


Who's to Judge

by Ev Pocket (rubynyarwhall)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Romance, M/M, Multichapter, Pam's Harvestcraft, Short Chapters, Slice of Life, Village and Pillage update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-02-18 15:23:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubynyarwhall/pseuds/Ev%20Pocket
Summary: A story about a Villager and an Illager who are simply doing their best.





	1. One Apple Juice

It was a beautiful day in the village, with hot sun streaming through the tree branches and a cool breeze rustling the grass. It was a perfect day to spend working and playing under the powder blue, cloudless sky, but it seemed as though the streets and fields were totally empty.

The inkeeper had finally managed to fix the jukebox that sat disused in the corner of the bar, and it seemed with perfect timing that on the very same day a travelling salesman had stopped to trade, bringing with him a small collection of records. So it was that everyone who was anyone was crowded into the inn to listen to the music played on the old artifact.

A jaunty jazz piece came from the speakers, punctuated by cracks and pops from the dust and wear on the disk. The cheerful murmur of villagers nearly drowned the music out as they gathered around tables, drinking ginger ale and root beer, and rocked side to side next to the jukebox. Between the peaceful conversation, and the warm yellow glow cast upon the walls by the drink bottles, the inn seemed almost dreamy, making the sudden change of atmosphere all the more jarring.

The door opened and one by one the villagers went dead silent. Standing in the doorway and casting a long dark shadow was a tall, grey-skinned stranger with blood red hair and a matching robe. An iron sword was sheathed at his hip.

The sword could have been used to cut the tension in the bar. Eyes were glued to the stranger as he slowly stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself. The record finished playing, but nobody bothered to turn it over as they stared with a combination of fear, and morbid curiosity.

The stranger approached the bar, and set his palm down on the counter, the inkeeper shaking in his leather boots. Finally he broke the silence,

"I'll get an apple juice," he said, his voice low, but clear.

The inkeeper nodded meekly and dug through the ice chest, producing a cold bottle of amber coloured liquid.

"Here you go, sir," he rasped, letting a voice crack slip through as he handed off the bottle.

The stranger produced from his pocket a small emerald and set it down on the table, before turning and leaving without giving any trouble.

As soon as the door was shut and he was gone, it was as if the whole inn gave one collective sigh, pushing out the breath that they had been holding for what must have been the longest minute of their lives.

For years to come, patrons to the inn would reminisce about the sunny day when an Illager came in to pay for a drink.


	2. Clay Dog

Stultus set out the cotton blanket and smoothed it out on the uneven grass. Although the wind was nice at first, after a while the sun had prooven too hot, so he had decided to move under a tree near the blacksmiths.Finally in the shade he breathed a sigh of relief and began to set his wares out.

Dozens of little sculptures made of wood and clay were produced from the pockets of his green robe and arranged tidily on the blanket. The sculptures were varied in size, but all represented people and animals he had seen throughout the village. He looked them over with a swell of pride, counting his favourite ones: Tiny wooden figurines representing a family, a cat with a tail made of rope, a little painted bumblebee with wings made of frayed fabric, and a chicken with glass eyes and a bright yellow beak.

Actually, that last one was his most favourite of all. He couldn't even imagine selling it to a single soul. Looking around to see if anyone was nearby, he grabbed the chicken up off the ground and quietly put it back in his pocket.

Finally pleased with the arrangement of his work, he sat down next to the blanket and waited. And waited. And waited. Now, this wasn't too different from his everyday. He had never had a customer in his life. Still, the streets were completely empty today; there wasn't even anyone passing by he could talk to to make the time go faster.

As the sun crept further up in the sky, and then began to sink back down again, Stultus kept himself busy by making up little scenes with his figurines. It had begun as a last result to deal with the boredom that crept over him like jungle vines, but the more he did it, the more fun he was having, until he was totally engulfed in the make believe.

He was in the middle of a gripping scene, in which the parents of a baby villager had made the decision to go out together and rescue their child from a gang of pirates, when a shadow appeared over him.

He set the figures down, a little embarassed, and let his gaze trail upwards. From dirty iron boots, to a dark red robe covered by an iron chestplate, all the way up to a curious grey face framed with wavy red hair.

"Hello," Stultus began, struggling to remember a sales pitch. Did he even have a sales pitch?  
"I'm, uh, I'm selling..." He sounded nervous, but the truth was simply that he was totally unprepared for this interaction.

The grey-faced stranger smiled,  
"I'm sorry. Your work looks very nice, but--" he turned his pickets inside out, showing that they were empty.

Stultus shook his head, stammering out a reply,

"No, don't apologise! I understand." he picked up a little clay dog and placed it firmly in the stranger's hand, "Take this; a free sample so you'll remember me!"

The stranger thanked him and pocketed the dog, turning and walking off, towards the exit from the walled village.

Stultus watched him leave with wide eyes and a giddy smile. Someone had wanted his works! Someone actually took something he made! His very first customer!... or was it okay to call him that, if it was free?

Even after the stranger had left the village, Stultus still stared out in the direction he had left in, gently petting the glass-eyed chicken figure as the sun set.


	3. Scouting Mission

It had been a slow summer for Iudex's raiding party. It seemed as though they hardly passed by any trading caravans, and the villages they came upon were so small and paltry that it would have been cruel even by their standards to mess with them. So the group of Illagers had been without good food, good armor, or good drinks for the whole season, and were forced to get by on their very limited fishing and foraging skills.

The sun was setting and the raiders were sluggishly repairing weapons and equipment when Iudex returned to them from the east. He had been sent east to scout out the area and look for any good targets.

The other Illagers moved away from their work to greet him warmly. Handshakes and hugs and ruffled hair as they all made sure he was in good health. He was the youngest member of the raiding party, and even if it was just by a few years they all treated him like a child.

"So, did you find anything?" asked Malus, a taller Illager with grey hair that made him look much older than he was. Iudex stared at him blankly for a moment, his eyes wide and his brows raised just slightly in a questioning expression. The silence lasted long enough to make Malus uncomfortable. He asked again,

"Did you find anything?"

Iudex shook his head harshly, as if he had just been pulled from a daydream.

"Oh, no, nothing," he said with a frown, and blinked twice, "I went out to the cliffs to get a better look and it was totally barren."

The Illagers in all honesty hadn't had their hopes up, but their faces still briefly fell with disappointment, until Aspera slapped her hand on Iudex's back, right between his shoulder blades. Aspera was a big muscular Illager who dressed in immaculate plaid fabrics and seemed to be always happy.

"Well," she said, her voice booming, "We can't fault you for trying, sweetheart, can we?" 

A resounding chorus of "no, not at all" echoed throughout the group.

"Good. Well, Iudie, we saved some food for you. Potato soup again?"

_____

Iudex took the cold, watery dish back to his tent and ate it alone in silence. His jaw was tense and his stomach uneasy as he ate. Why had he lied to them again?

He set the wooden bowl down and reached into his pocket, feeling the spot where he once had a single emerald. There now in its place was an empty bottle and a clay dog.

The village he had found was massive, full of healthy farms and industry. They could have lived like kings for months on that one raid! But he just couldn't bring himself to tell them where it was.

He never could. Every time he had the opportunity to help his family with a raid, he always came up with some sort of lie or excuse to get out of it, but the worst part was that they still trusted him. That was the part that made tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

He finished the soup and went to bed, still hungry.


End file.
